They had finished breakfast and were crossing the yard, hoes over their shoulders, when the riders came. The children stopped to listen, but did not recognize the sound of their approach. Something was coming, something that sounded familiar yet was not. They waited in the yard to see what would come. At last the first rider crested the hill.

“Horsie?” Bettina was uncertain. She saw a man (or something very much like a man) mounted on a larger creature. The creature was pale pink, spotted with yellow and had six legs. The men were taller than Ifan and had long faces and red skin. Not dusky maroon like Ifan, not reddish tan like natives of the Americas, but bright red like a British army uniform. They wore smart green jackets with yellow braid and insignia that even Gerhardt did not recognize, although he made quite a study of the world’s armies.

Too late. The riders encircled the children. Claire dropped her hoe and picked up Bettina. The other von Hedwigs tightened their grips on their hoes; a rock tied to a stick is better than nothing. The lead rider rode up to Ifan, who kept his eyes down, answering questions.

“What are they saying?” Adolphus kept his voice low.

“He’s asking about us,” Mirabelle said. “Who we are, where we came from… I can’t hear Ifan.”

“He looks scared, though,” Gerhardt said.

“Well, he shan’t get into trouble on our account!” Claire stepped toward the leader, trying to get his attention in faltering Welsh. Annabelle lowered her hoe (but did not put it down) and caught up with her.

“Excuse me, sir,” Annabelle translated for Claire. “We are strangers here. We came from far away and do not know how to get back. These kind people have given us a place to sleep for a night or two. Are you looking for us?”

“They are looking for a group of pale-skinned savages who disrupted Her Majesty’s – I don’t know that word – harvest.” Mirabelle took up translating for the rider. “Oh, no! They’re here about the corndogs!”

“Then you are looking for us,” Claire said as Annabelle translated. “If we were wrong to save little creatures from a horrible death, so be it. But this family knew nothing of that. They have been generous to strangers and done nothing wrong.”

The rider stared hard at Claire, then at each of the children in turn. His long face had high, chiseled cheekbones, and his eyes were entirely black with no whites. They held no trace of kindness. He spoke.

“He says we are smaller, and not as mean, or rather, as fierce as described.” Mirabelle said. “Well, we’re cleaner than we were then. Oh, dear. He says to put down our weapons and come with us. I mean them.”

“Where are we going?” Gerhardt burst out. “Are we going to jail?”

Annabelle and Mirabelle had to consult on this one. “Jail” was not a word Mr. Evans had taught them. Finally, Claire interrupted with a passable Welsh “Where to?”